


Learn Your Lesson, Lead Me Home

by squeemonster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>End!verse ficlet. Dean returns from another supply run gone bad. </p><p><i>Whispers in the dark</i><br/><i>Steal a kiss and you'll break your heart</i><br/><i>Pick up your clothes and curl your toes</i><br/><i>Learn your lesson, lead me home</i> </p><p>-- Mumford & Sons, "Whispers in the Dark"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn Your Lesson, Lead Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I stare at a pic of thigh holster!Dean.

"Brian and Aaron didn't make it." 

Terry announces it to the room as Dean shuts the cabin door behind them. Dean thinks there's not much point to saying it; it's pretty obvious when five had left on the supply run that morning but only three emerged from the van, dirty and sweaty and bloody, and numb to the damp chill of the late night.

Dean spares a cursory look around his dusty one-room cabin, more like a shack than anything else. He notices the doc sitting by the rickety kitchen table, and Cas standing by the fireplace, poker still in hand from where he'd been stoking the fire. His eyes are narrowed as he stares at Dean, and Dean looks away quickly.

He doesn't know why Cas chooses to be here, always waiting in Dean's cabin until they return from supply runs, or search parties, or whatthefuckever would make them leave the relative safety of camp. Dean had yelled at him for it one time, had bunched Cas's shirt in angry fists and thrown him out the door, Cas falling backwards and landing hard on his ass in the dirt. 

Cas had jumped right back up as if on a spring, pounded up the steps and punched the shit out of him, stared down at Dean rolling on the floor and rubbing his jaw as he spat out, voice hoarse, "Go fuck yourself."

They'd avoided each other for weeks after that, but the next run Dean went out, he came back to find Cas in his cabin again that night, stoking the fire he'd started, as always. They didn't so much as even look at each other as Cas walked out and into the night, not even waiting for the last of their party to get unloaded from the van. 

Maybe Dean does know why. He just doesn't like to think about it.

The doc sighs, asking if anyone has any injuries that need looking at. When everyone replies in the negative, she takes her leave. Dean stands by the table, staring down at the rough edge of it. He pulls the pistol out of his waistband, sets it on top of a gnarled circle etched on the surface, terror-stricken faces of the recently dead flashing before his eyes.

 _They were just kids, goddammit._ He can hear Terry telling him good night, saying he'll go tell Aaron and Brian's people the bad news. No one ever expects Dean to be the messenger, even if he is their leader. Most everyone believes he doesn't even know anyone's name, let alone who belongs to who.

But he does know names. He knows every goddamn name of every soul in this place, and the names of the dead are etched in his brain too, a litany he repeats over and over on sleepless nights, his own penance. 

It always ends with the one name that hurts most of all. 

Sam. _Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sammy, please don't go_.

Dean doesn't say goodbye as he listens to everyone walk out of the cabin, closing his eyes as feet shuffle behind him and the door clicks closed. He should move, should start taking off these nasty clothes and draw himself a bucket of water, let it sluice away the memories of today, but he's just so fucking tired. He can't muster the strength to move, other than to press a palm on the table, leaning for support.

He hears a floorboard creak behind him, and looks over his shoulder to see Cas leaning against the closed door, hand still on the knob. Dean had assumed he'd left with the others, as he always does. They stare at each other for a few brief seconds before Dean closes his eyes and hangs his head again. He should kick Cas out like he did that one time, kick him out like he'd kicked him out of his bed two years ago.

But he doesn't. He wants Cas to stay almost as much as he wants him to go.

He listens as Cas returns to the fireplace and pushes the logs around with the poker, wood popping and sizzling. Dean doesn't move, barely breathes as he remembers the last time he allowed himself to touch Cas, to look at him without restraint. Those few months of fighting and fucking had pulled him back from the edge, pulled Cas back too, he thinks, both of them never feeling more alive than when they were biting and sucking and grasping, screaming from the release.

But it all had come crashing down when Cas opened his mouth and ruined it, said he loved Dean, said it without shame, without fear, without the awareness that every fucking idiot who loves Dean gets let down, or killed, or both. And Dean had decided right then he couldn't let that happen again, wasn't going to stand by and watch another person lose everything just because they were stupid enough to care for him.

So he'd told Cas to get the fuck out, pushed him away and out of his bed and his cabin, trying his damndest to push himself out of Cas's heart.

Cas had seen right through him and tried to call him out on it, but Dean wouldn't budge, other than to grip him by his collar and sling him out the front door.

Cas slides up behind him, forcing Dean to stop reliving the memory. He holds his breath, wondering what Cas is doing, thinking he should kick his friend out before he tries anything, but Dean is just too bone fucking weary. Forming words seems like the most exhausting thing in the world right now, so he keeps his mouth shut, waiting.

He swallows when he feels fingers grip the collar of his jacket, pulling the fabric back and down as Cas slips it off his shoulders. Dean lets go of the edge of the table long enough to pull his arm out of his sleeve, leaning against the table again once his hand is free.

Eyes still closed, he startles when he feels something tugging at his boots. He glances down to find Cas kneeling at his feet, head bowed as he pulls laces loose. He keeps his head down as he works at his task, slowly unknotting the thin laces with care.

Dean clenches his jaw when Cas taps a finger on his calf, signaling Dean to raise his foot so he can slide the boot off. Once the first boot is done, Cas moves onto the next, silently pulling it off and throwing it on the floor next to them.

He straightens his back, fingers moving up to work at unbuckling Dean's thigh holster. Slender fingers slide between Dean's thigh and the strap, and Dean curses inwardly when he can't hold back a gasp at the sensation. Instead of acting as a barrier, the denim of his jeans only serves to heighten the feel of Cas's hand against his leg. Dean watches as Cas's fingers move so excruciatingly slow at their task, unsnapping one buckle and sliding up to the other.

Cas's hair looks so soft, Dean thinks to himself, missing the way it always felt between his fingers. He watches as his own hand reaches up and forward, hesitating only for a second before slipping between the tufts, fingernails grazing along Cas's scalp.

Cas stills immediately, hands frozen against Dean's thigh. Dean sucks on his lip but doesn't stop running his fingers across Cas's scalp, biting back a moan at the silky feel of his friend's hair. He's missed this, missed touching Cas, but the only times he's let himself think of it is late at night. When he's in bed, alone, he always thinks of Cas, remembers his clever hands and the taste of his skin and his cock, remembers the way it felt to empty himself deep inside Cas. And when he remembers the way Cas always cried out at the feel of Dean's come filling him up, he strips himself until he's raw and spilling over his hand, Cas's name still on his lips.

As Dean glides his fingers through Cas's hair, his mind flashes to one of the kids who got killed today, remembering how his hair was drenched with sweat as he tried desperately to outrun the Croats. The dude must have been nineteen or twenty, and he'd always reminded Dean of Sam at that age, stupid floppy hair and toothy grin, still working on growing into his long limbs.

He really wished the kid didn't remind him of Sam when he had to shoot his brains out to put him out of his misery. Another set of hazel eyes that will haunt him.

Cas leans his body closer and along the length of Dean's leg. He doesn't look up as he tentatively rubs a cheek against the fabric of Dean's jeans, wrapping his hand along the back of Dean's thigh. Dean hears a sigh escape his lips, but no words are said between them as Cas tongues along the length of the second strap, before unbuckling it and discarding it somewhere on the floor behind them. 

Cas clings to Dean's leg as his lips mouth at the denim bunched in the juncture between thigh and groin. He rubs a knuckle along the growing bulge at Dean's crotch before shaky fingers unbutton, and unzip, and unravel every illusion Dean may have had about this never happening again.

He's just so fucking _tired_. Tired of fighting this apocalypse, tired of fighting the Croats, tired of being in control, tired of leading this camp, tired of pretending he doesn't miss his brother, and tired of ignoring how much he wants to lose himself in Cas again.

"Cas," Dean whispers, watching as Cas stills, hands frozen on the waistband of Dean's jeans. He slowly looks up at Dean, eyes wary and dark between the thick, sooty fringe of his eyelashes.

Dean stares down at his friend, ghosting his fingers down along Cas's temple, brow, nose, cheekbone, before reaching his lips. He rubs a thumb along the bow of Cas's upper lip, then slides it down to caress the bottom one. He rubs a knuckle along the scruff of Cas's beard as his thumb circles his mouth, surprised at how soft the beard is. He'd been itching to touch the scruff ever since Cas started growing it after they'd ended whatever they were so long ago. He'd brought himself off more than once fantasizing how it would feel along the inside of his thigh, but he'd never imagined it as anything other than coarse, a scratchy-scritch leaving a burn along his skin for days.

But the softness of this is even better than the fantasy, and Dean spreads his fingers out along Cas's jaw, palm cupping his face as his thumb slowly strokes along his cheekbone. Cas closes his eyes, breaths shallow as he opens his mouth and wets his lips. Hands no longer frozen and waiting to be turned away, Cas pulls Dean's jeans down off his hips and along his legs, the fabric pooling at Dean's feet.

He nuzzles his nose along Dean's boxers, where his dick is tenting the thin fabric. Opening his eyes, Cas meets Dean's gaze as he spreads his lips wide and begins to mouth at the head of his dick through the light cotton. Dean moans, the glorious feel of Cas's tongue moving against him putting him on edge. It's filthy how quickly his boxers become wet around his cock; between Cas's mouth and the pre come coating the crown of his dick, the fabric is almost dripping.

Cas's fingers curl under the waistband of Dean's boxers and the next thing Dean knows, his cock is freed from the confines of his underwear, hot and heavy as Cas takes him in hand. God, how he's missed this; missed having Cas stroking him just the way he likes it, missed his friend staring up at him with a smirk as he takes him into his mouth.

In the back of his mind, Dean knows this has to be just a one-time thing, a momentary relapse because he's weak and tired and sick of ignoring what he needs. But fuck it – he's going to take this moment and enjoy it, take what Cas is willing to give before closing himself off and putting up those walls again.

Cas continues to stare up at Dean as he licks at the tip of his dick, eyes fluttering briefly as he tastes the wetness pooling there. Dean begins to run his fingers through Cas's hair again, eyes wide as he watches Cas swallowing down the length of him. Dean had always been impressed with how good Cas was at this, so much so that he'd started calling him 'Deep Throat' to tease him when they were alone. Once they'd ended, Dean had kept a close eye on the revolving door to Cas's cabin, always dreading the day he'd see a dude leaving through it, and hating himself for being jealous when he knew he had no right to be.

But that day never came. If Cas had taken another man into his bed, he kept it a well-hidden secret from Dean.

Cas pulls off, licks his way down Dean's shaft to circle his mouth and tongue around the base of it. He slides down, nuzzling and sucking a ball into his mouth. As he does so, the scruff along his jaw and cheek brushes against Dean's cock, making him gasp. The hair is so soft that Dean muses for a second that it feels like feathers, and his heart aches when he remembers the loss of Cas's wings when he fell from Grace. Just one more loss that's all Dean's fault.

Cas brings a hand up to strip Dean's cock as he sucks on his balls, thumb caressing the crown in just the way that always drives Dean over the edge. But Dean doesn't want that, not yet. He knows what he wants – if he's honest with himself he's wanted it for a long time, even before they'd ended things. He'd just never had the guts to ask for it before it was too late.

His heart beats fast as he tries to work up the nerve to ask, to tell Cas what he needs, but as Cas sucks along the head of his cock again he realizes that if he doesn't speak up soon he's going to blow his wad, and the only way he wants to come right now is with Cas inside him and breaking him apart.

He pulls at Cas's hair, gripping the strands between fingers. With shaking hands, he urges Cas to stop sucking his dick and stand up, yanking his body tight against his own. He spares a second to stare into Cas's eyes, noticing the flush in his cheeks and the slick pink of his lips, before leaning forward and capturing Cas's lips with his own.

Dean moans when he tastes himself on Cas's tongue, and Cas grips the spurs of his hips and thrusts his groin against him. He's hard, and the feel of his urgency makes Dean's mouth dry. He slides a hand to the back of Cas's head, holding him in place as his tongue fucks his mouth. It's a desperate slide of lips and tongues, teeth clashing and biting at flesh, and Dean has _missed_ this, oh God, how he's missed this. This feeling of never being able to get enough of each other, of never filing up, the hunger never sated, never waning, the desperation of more, more, _fuckyesmore_.

Cas kisses along Dean's jaw, pulling an earlobe between his teeth and biting until he hears Dean gasp, moving along to Dean's neck, pulling his shirt collar down to bite his shoulder just how Dean always liked it. Dean moves hands down to fumble at Cas's waistband, quickly unzipping him and shoving his pants and briefs down to get at his cock. He grasps it with one hand, running a fingernail along the underside, smiling when he hears the expected growl rumble from deep within Cas's chest. He grips both their cocks in one hand, reveling in the feel of Cas's dick sliding against his own. Cas pants against his neck, breath wet and hot and filthy as he moans in Dean's ear.

Dean turns his head a tiny bit, nuzzles along Cas's ear and whispers, "I want you to fuck me, Cas."

Cas stills and stops breathing, pulls away from Dean to look at him. His lips look bee-stung, swollen and red. "What did you say?" he asks, his voice raw.

Dean can feel his face flush with the nakedness of his confession, but he doesn't look away as he answers. "I want you to fuck me. I want…I _need_ it. I wanna feel you inside me."

Cas's eyes widen as he stares at Dean so intensely Dean thinks he might be looking for a crack in his demeanor, something that will give this away as a lie, or a joke, but Dean doesn't back down. He lets Cas look him over, will let him look straight into his fucking soul if he wants, not like he hasn't before, but he won't change his mind.

Finally Cas leans forward, presses lips to Dean's and opens him up with a slow, sweet spiral of need. He swirls his tongue along Dean's before pulling away to kiss along the other side of his neck, and as he reaches the shell of Dean's ear he whispers, "Lube?"

Dean huffs a shaky laugh. A part of him was starting to fear that Cas wasn't on board with this idea, that he'd refuse Dean this _thing_ he's been needing for years. It'd serve him right after ruining everything they had, but he still can't keep himself from wanting it.

"Yeah, there's some lubricant in the med kit," he mumbles as Cas sucks on his earlobe again.

Cas reaches across the table to fumble open the kit, and when he finds the jar he pulls Dean flush to him again, his face unsure and wary, as if he's waiting for Dean to change his mind. "Where…?"

Dean lets loose a shaky breath between his teeth. "Against the wall," he replies, voice husky.

He turns his back on Cas, kicking his jeans and boxers off as he takes the few steps towards the wall. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, shivering as he feels a draft across his back. He raises his arms up and folds them against the cool surface, using one arm as a cushion for his forehead. His back isn't naked to the cold but for a moment, as Cas slides up behind him and wraps his arms around Dean's waist. He must have stripped while Dean had his back turned, because all Dean feels is soft, fever-hot skin and the hardness of Cas's dick pressing against the cleft of his ass.

He hears Cas pop open the lid of their makeshift lube, and the next moment his friend is pulling his ass back and out to get better access. Dean spreads his legs apart as Cas places a kiss on the knob of bone at the back of his neck, another an inch further down, sinking slowly to his knees and dotting Dean's spine with the moist warmth of his lips as he goes, until he reaches the soft flesh of Dean's ass. 

Dean sucks in a breath when he feels a finger teasing along his hole.

"Dean, you have to breathe and relax," Cas murmurs, and he continues to kiss and suck, licking a path along Dean's crack before licking at his opening, tongue teasing around the rim of him. Dean gasps and curses, but he starts breathing again, and next thing he knows there's a finger burning its way inside.

Dean grunts involuntarily, pushes back instinctively onto the slip-slide of hard flesh, and this is easy, and the sting and pressure is so damn good. When Cas adds a second finger, Dean bites his lip to keep from crying out, but the back-forth is slick and filthy-good through the ache. The third finger forces a gasp from Dean's lips, and he pounds his palm against the wall, but the pain is something he was wanting, something he was needing to forget the _crapfest_ that this day was, so he bites his tongue and takes it. He knows from fucking Cas as much as he did years before that it has to start feeling good at some point, so he doesn't bitch about the pain, turning his head to mutter over his shoulder.

"You planning on fucking me sometime tonight, or do I need to busy myself with knitting or something while I wait?"

Cas looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. He leans forward to slip his tongue in next to his fingers and Dean groans out long and deep at the sensation of sloppy warmth on tender skin as Cas tongues and finger-fucks his ass for long moments before he pulls back and reaches for his jeans. Dean leans his head on his arm against the wall, hearing the familiar sound of a condom wrapper tearing, then the obscene sounds of lube slicking along Cas's cock after he pulls the condom on.

Dean closes his eyes and concentrates on steadying his breathing, having to make an effort to remind himself to breathe at all. He's nervous as _fuck_ , and his need for this terrifies him. But when he feels a strong, gentle hand wrap around his hip and soft lips kiss along his spine again, he remembers that this is _Cas_ , and this is right. 

For tonight, this is right where he's supposed to be.

There's a hard, insistent nudge at his opening, and Dean can hear Cas breathing, soft, thin gasps as he begins to breach Dean's rim. The head of his dick is bulbous and rock-hard as it presses in, and Dean bites his wrist, trying his best not to cry out, but unable to help the pained curse that escapes his lips.

"Dean?" Cas whispers, and goddamn, he's probably barely an inch in and he already sounds _wrecked_.

Dean knows Cas is asking if he wants to stop, knows that if he said yes Cas would, no matter how much he may want this. 

"Don't stop, Cas," he pants. "S'good, pain's good, it'll get better, keep…keep going…need you deeper, Cas…"

He can feel Cas shaking behind him, hands trembling as he grips Dean's hips and pushes further in, so slow, so excruciatingly slow. His cock drags against Dean inside, feeling as thick and heated as one of the logs that smolders in the fireplace, feeling too thick, and Dean bites at his knuckle, sinks his teeth into the bone as deep as Cas is sinking into him. Once he's completely sheathed, balls tight and pressed against the bottom of Dean's ass, Cas gasps into Dean's back, wet breaths painting moisture across the skin there. He wraps his arms around Dean's chest, pulling Dean as tightly against him as he can, not moving, and Dean is so overwhelmed that he lets loose a sob.

Cas is filling him up completely, surrounding him, enveloping him. Everything that Dean is in this moment is _Cas_. He's not a leader, he's not a protector, he's not responsible for everything bad that's ever happened, he doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. All that he feels, and hears, and tastes and knows in this moment is Cas, everything that he _is_ , is for Cas, and Cas thinks he's good enough.

Cas kisses the nape of Dean's neck as a hand strays up his chest to tease at a nipple. "Are you okay?"

Dean turns his head, meets Cas's gaze over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm just…I feel like I'm about to burst and tear apart and burn up, kinda all at once," he whispers between shallow breaths. "I feel like I need you to move though…I wanna start feelin' it more."

Cas groans, "Oh, thank fuck," and pulls back slow. 

Dean whimpers from the burn of it, mutters, "Ahhhh, oh _shit_ …."

"Do you need me to stop?" Cas mumbles, lips pressed against his spine.

"Jesus, Cas, I wanna feel everything you can give me, so how 'bout you shut up and start fucking me?"

Cas snaps his hips hard even before Dean has finished husking out the plea, and Dean hits his forehead so hard on the wall he sees stars, though that could be from feeling the head of Cas's dick hit his prostate. Cas begins to move faster, some thrusts shallow and others deep, and the burn Dean was feeling just a few minutes before starts to lessen as the pleasure takes over. He still feels like he's being split apart, but instead of hurting, it makes his toes curl from the sheer sensation.

With almost every deep thrust, the head of Cas's dick hits Dean's sweet spot like a lightning strike, and after only a few minutes Dean's dick begins to swell again. He'd gone soft from the pain and burn, but now feeling his dick grow hard and swollen while his ass is filled with Cas, he starts to moan and beg for Cas to pound him deeper and harder.

He sticks his ass out, meeting Cas for every inward slam, and when he reaches down to strip his own cock clumsily it only takes a few strokes before he's painting the wall with come. The orgasm blindsides him, his vision going white and ears ringing as he cries out Cas's name.

His muscles contract, milking Cas's dick, and it's only seconds before Cas's rhythm falters and he comes with a shout, fingers pressing bruises into Dean's hips as he grips him and holds the both of them still. Dean is panting hard, and he feels Cas slump against his back, shallow gasps puffing over Dean's skin as he tries to catch his breath.

He leans back and away, pulling his dick out of Dean's ass as he does so, and Dean hisses at the sensation. He listens with eyes closed as Cas slides the condom off his dick and throws it in the wastebasket, stepping into the bathroom to rinse off his hand in the washbucket. He's suddenly more exhausted than he thinks he's ever been in his life, a weary ache that he thinks must have invaded every bone and muscle in his body. He slits an eye open to stare over at his bed across the room, but walking those few steps seems an impossible feat at the moment.

Cas weaves into his view, face guarded and closed off. "Would you like some help getting over to the bed?"

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. "Is it that obvious I don't wanna move? Yeah, sure, gimme a shoulder."

Cas hands him his boxers and t-shirt off the floor, and stands next to him as he waits for Dean to get dressed, letting Dean hang a loose arm around his shoulder once he's done. He wraps his arm around Dean's waist, but lets go as soon as he's helped him lay down on the bed. Dean watches with hooded eyes as Cas gathers his clothes and shoes, slipping on his jeans. He sits down on the edge of the bed to slip on his boots, staying as far away from Dean as he can and avoiding his eyes as he laces up.

So, Cas knew Dean was going to kick him out as soon as they were done. That's good, Dean tells himself. It's good that they're on the same page, that Cas isn't expecting anymore than what just happened. 

But even as he thinks it, Dean knows that's not the page he's on at all. It's not even the same fucking book anymore. If he really thinks about it, he knows he'll find that the reason he's been pushing Cas away for so long is because he's terrified of how much he needs him, scared of what losing him will do to him.

He's just so tired of fighting this, of pushing Cas away when all he wants to do is fold his arms around him, pull him in, and never let go. It's like he's a magnet, and he's drawn to Cas so strongly that it's a fucking battle to stay away when the most natural thing in the world is to go to him.

So when Cas stands up and moves to leave, Dean reaches out and grabs his wrist, wrapping tight fingers around the bones of him. "Don't leave," he whispers, staring up at him.

Cas's eyes go wide and he tilts his head to the side as he gazes down at Dean. "You want me to stay the night?" he murmurs, voice laced with disbelief.

Dean squeezes his wrist before letting go, but he doesn't break their gaze. "Yeah, is that okay?"

"Of course," Cas replies, voice still unsure.

He stands there for several moments, watching silently as Dean leans back and settles himself on the bed. Even though his eyes are closed, Dean can still feel Cas's gaze on him, questioning. When he slits one eye open to see what's the hold up, it seems to break Cas out of his reverie. But instead of piling onto the bed next to him, Cas steps across to the kitchenette, opening a cupboard and grabbing a small saucepan. He fills the pan with water from the jug on the countertop before walking over to the fireplace and setting it on the rack above the fire to heat it up.

Dean watches and wonders as Cas toes off his boots and shrugs off his jacket but leaves his jeans and t-shirt on. He potters about in the kitchen area, moving things around and wiping down the counter. He glances over at Dean every so often, a curious look on his face, eyebrows drawn as if he's working out a puzzle.

After a few minutes he shuffles into the bathroom, reappears carrying a washcloth and the soap. He crosses to the fireplace and removes the pan of water from the fire, returning to Dean and setting the pan on the chair Dean uses for a nightstand. He sits down on the edge of the bed, scooting in so his back is pressed against Dean's thigh. He stares down at Dean for a moment, the fire casting shadows across his face and making his eyes look almost black. Dean returns the stare, letting his face be open to Cas in a way that he hasn't in years, if ever. Always a wall, always guarding himself, afraid to care or show that he cares.

Cas turns away, soaks the cloth in the pan of water before wringing out the excess. He daubs soap on the cloth, reaches for Dean's hand, places it across his own thigh and begins to gently wash the dirt and grime from the day off Dean's skin. 

When Dean had asked Cas to stay the night, he sure as hell wasn't expecting a sponge bath. But now that it's happening, he's surprised by how good it feels to just lie back and let some else caress and clean him, no needs or expectations other than to let himself be taken care of…yeah, for once, he's not going to fight it. He closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel, narrowing his senses down to hearing the crackle of the fire and the tinkling of the water as Cas wrings it out, and feeling the warm wet swipe of the cloth and Cas's hands on him.

Once Cas is finished with Dean's left arm, he moves onto washing his feet and legs, his touch slow and methodical. He stops once to change out the water, sitting next to Dean and stroking fingers through his hair as he waits for the water to heat up.

He settles onto the opposite side of the bed to clean Dean's right hand, and Dean turns to watch him. Cas's head is bowed low as he rubs along Dean's palm, and he's humming something, low and soft. _Hey Jude_ , and Dean feels his lids start to drift close, the warmth of the fire and the feel of Cas's hands cleaning and soothing him enough to finally lull him to sleep.

"If you let me, I will never leave you," he hears Cas murmur, voice husky and low.

Dean's eyes flutter open. Cas still has his back to him, but he's stopped his ministrations, body quiet. He's holding Dean's hand between his own and staring at it, lightly stroking the palm.

Dean laces his fingers between Cas's and squeezes. 

"I know," he whispers, as he pulls Cas back, pushing his body down on the bed, covering him and sharing his warmth.


End file.
